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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28195812">Joy Is Not Made to Be a Crumb</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill'>BrighteyedJill</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Potential [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Holidays, Hopeful Ending, Implied/references canon-typical child abuse, Injury, Isolation, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath &amp; Recovery, Past Rape/Non-con (mentioned in passing), Threatened animal death, Winter Solstice</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:48:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,891</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28195812</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Aiden went into the town on market day in the cleanest clothes he had and without his swords. He spent the last of his coin on some food and a few other sundries, being sure to spread his business around to several stalls. He said. “yes ma'am,” and “no, sir,” and gave his most winning smile, the one that hid his sharpest teeth. He steered clear of any animals that might hiss or snarl at him, lest they give their owners ideas, and even took the opportunity to make an infant laugh by pulling a face. And although Aiden made himself as friendly as could be, he took care to move slowly and deliberately so as not to show the strain of his injured leg. There was seeming friendly, and then there was looking vulnerable. Looking vulnerable in front of humans did not end well for witchers.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Aiden finds someplace to hole up for the winter, and as Midinváerne, the solstice, approaches, he only wishes he had someone to share it with.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Potential [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910167</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>191</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Joy Is Not Made to Be a Crumb</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Can be read independently, but is best paired with <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26290492/chapters/64008142">We are not wise (and not very often kind)</a>, as it takes place between chapters 3 and 4 of that fic. And don't worry, the conclusion of that is coming soon--I just had to get this bit out pre-solstice!</p><p>Title from the same poem as the previous work in this series, <a href="https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DqoyvbrWkAIjRK2.jpg">Mary Oliver’s Don't Hesitate.</a></p><p>Thanks to hobbitdragon for beta-ing!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The barn had been an extremely lucky find. Aiden felt fairly confident that he’d lost his pursuers a few days ago, but his wounds wouldn’t heal well if he didn’t rest, and he didn’t like pushing Kicia this hard. A little farming estate had been struck by the plague and abandoned. Witchers, not needing to worry about plague, could find opportunity in such a situation. Aiden searched the compound for signs of life and, finding none, picked out a snug stone barn with an intact roof as his base of operations. </p><p>He fed and watered Kicia first, and got her settled in a stall with a promise that he’d warm the place up as soon as he could. Before he could chop wood, however, he needed to do something about his leg. He slumped down against the cold stone wall and sat there breathing through the pain for a moment. Eventually he peeled off the dressing around his thigh, setting it bleeding again. The sword had gone deep, but at least the wound still smelled clean.</p><p>It was his own fault, of course. He’d been so excited to finally locate another one of the mages he’d been looking for that he hadn’t taken the proper time to assess the situation. He’d gotten too confident after the first two. Aiden wouldn't have thought that the other Cats gave a single shit whether the school mages lived or died. He certainly hadn't expected this mage to have a Cat defender. He’d been lucky to not have paid a higher price for his foolishness. </p><p>But at least he'd done what he came to Kaedwen to do, and another monster was gone from the world. Of the Cat school mages he’d known, now there was just one left. And that one would be tricky. For one thing, she would not be caught unawares. At this point, she would know that Aiden was hunting her. And Aiden needed the element of surprise. </p><p>If he let her speak, if she used her powers, Aiden would be lost: back in that dark quiet place he'd been trapped in so often as a boy. His body tensed all over to think of it, drawing in defensively, but Aiden flinched as the movement pulled on his wound, and he made himself stretch out his injured leg again.</p><p>If she caught Aiden, held him, she could kill him at her leisure, but unfortunately, Aiden did not think she would. She was too confident in her power to pass up as useful a tool as an adult witcher. Normally the other Cats would not have stood for one of their own fully fledged witchers being manipulated so, but Aiden had already proven himself enough of a traitor that he did not expect there to be objections.</p><p>So Aiden could not be caught. He would need to do something clever. At the moment, however, hungry, cold, and devoid of coin or supplies, he was not feeling particularly clever. So, he needed to do what was necessary to be clever again.</p><p>Once he’d re-bandaged his leg, Aiden set about making the barn a more hospitable dwelling. One of the tumbledown cottages on the grounds had an intact oven, which Aiden was able to load on a sled and drag back to the barn. He had to spend quite a while sharpening an extremely rusted axe he found, but then he could chop wood. By sunset, the wood was blazing cheerily in the stove, and Aiden didn't shiver through the night for the first time in weeks.</p><p>The estate was close enough to a town that Aiden had some chance of finding work and buying supplies, presuming the coin earned from the former actually allowed him to do the latter. But if he intended to spend some days hiding out here (and he did), he needed to make himself an asset to the town, and not an object of fear. </p><p>So he went into the town on market day in the cleanest clothes he had, and without his swords. He spent the last of his coin on some food and a few other sundries, being sure to spread his business around to several stalls. He said. “yes ma'am,” and “no, sir,” and gave his most winning smile, the one that hid his sharpest teeth. He steered clear of any animals that might hiss or snarl at him, lest they give their owners ideas, and even took the opportunity to make an infant laugh by pulling a face. </p><p>And although Aiden made himself as friendly as could be, he took care to move slowly and deliberately so as not to show the strain of his injured leg. There was seeming friendly, and then there was looking vulnerable. Looking vulnerable in front of humans did not end well for witchers.</p><p>He walked out of town a half a mile down the road, gritting his teeth as his wound made him pay for not favoring the leg during his foray into town. When he made it to the spot in the trees where he’d hidden Kicia, he collapsed against her side, holding himself up against the saddle as he breathed through the pain. She snorted at him, then turned around to lip at his hair. What Aiden wouldn’t have given to hear hear the crunch of boots on the snow-dusted leaves, and a low voice, sharp with venom, ask him what the hell he thought he was doing, walking around on that leg. To have Lambert scold and bully him onto Kicia’s back, and keep up a monologue of complaint about Aiden’s idiocy as they rode back together. To have Lambert put his hands on Aiden’s skin as he unwrapped the bandage, and hear him grumble as he plied Aiden with some strange variation on Swallow he’d concocted.</p><p>Aiden wiped a gloved hand over his eyes and curled a hand on Kicia’s mane. “I’m fine,” he told her. She snorted again, unimpressed. </p><p>After a while he dragged himself up onto her back and rode back to the estate. </p><p> </p><p>Aiden didn’t have the supplies to make more Swallow, and he wasn’t actually expecting a visit from a certain friend of his who was a stellar alchemist, so the healing went slowly. There was much to be done before the snows set in, and though everything went slower than Aiden liked, it went. He gathered more herbs, set out some snares to catch squirrels and rabbits. He repaired weak spots in the walls and the roof of his barn. He scavenged useful tidbits from the other abandoned buildings: a large wash tub, a ladle, a round-bellied cauldron. And each night he and Kicia had somewhere to sleep that was dry and warm and safe. </p><p>It felt almost like a home. Aiden hadn't felt anything like this since he'd been a young trainee, shortly after the Grasses and before the mages had found a use for him. When his fellow trainees hadn't yet learned to fear him. In cold weather, the young Cats had pushed together a few beds in the dormitory, gathered all their blankets, and piled in together to sleep. His fellow trainees--his <i>friends</i>--had meant home and safety to him for many years. </p><p>Aiden knew, in a detached sort of way, that the other adult Cats did this from time to time: that when those that were left gathered for the winter, they couldn’t resist the warmth and physical comfort of curling up together. They’d likely gathered for the winter now, pooling supplies and sharing the work of preparing for the cold. </p><p>But Aiden was not welcome among the other Cats. He hadn't been welcome among his fellow trainees either, once they started sporting bruises and wounded looks, and Aiden could remember only as a half-faded dream what he’d done to cause them. He rubbed at the healing wound on his thigh, inflicted by a Cat who’d seen Aiden as a greater enemy than the school mage who’d done far worse things than Aiden. It was best he didn’t try to go back.</p><p>He was doing all right on his own, though. It wasn’t so bad to have a place like this to come home to, Aiden thought: a roaring fire, a little bit of food squirreled away, a place to let his guard down. And perhaps someone to share it with. He'd started sewing a second pallet, to stuff with hay and put next to his in the loft. He’d also repaired the stall next to Kacia’s, and scavenged another few buckets, so that a second horse staying here could have water and feed of its own. He carefully did not say to himself who he thought might take advantage of such amenities.</p><p> </p><p>The first time someone from town came to the estate, Aiden was outside chopping wood. He heard them quite a ways off, and had time to decide whether he’d take his swords with him or leave them out of sight to look less threatening. He left them. </p><p>The men turned out to be farmers, a father and son who had come to ask for help with a wraith who was keeping them from their granary. They didn’t have coin, but they could pay in oats and hay if the witcher would take it. Aiden thought of Kicia’s sunken sides and tried not to look too eager as he negotiated his fee. </p><p>The wraith was very little trouble, the farmers were grateful, and Kicia ate well that night. Every week or two after that, a human would approach Aiden in the market, or seek him out at the estate to ask his services. All the contracts were modest, and few were paid in coin, but Aiden didn’t complain. The goodwill he was accumulating was just as valuable as whatever material goods he earned for his services.</p><p>He traded squirrel meat to one of the villagers for more feed for Kicia. It was foolish to feed an animal that was doing little work, and wouldn't until spring. He could buy a new horse when he needed one, and it wasn't as if he'd never eaten horse meat before. But he considered the look on Lambert's face if Aiden told him Kicia was gone. Aiden didn't miss the fact that Lambert brought Kicia treats every time they met, the way he didn’t for his own horse. And Aiden felt a twinge of shame when he thought about confessing to Lambert he couldn't take care of himself well enough to avoid having to eat his horse over the winter. </p><p>After decades out on the Path, he should have been better. He should have found a way to make each winter more than a desperate struggle, something like an opportunity for rest and recuperation. Is that what the wolves did in their mountain fastness? Trained together, grew fat on rich food, slept in warm beds, and shared stories of the year’s exploits? Would Lambert say anything of the Cat he spent months traveling with? Or would he keep whatever thread that tied them together close to his heart the way Aiden did, secret and protected, feeling that to speak it into life might scare it away?</p><p>At least, Aiden <i>hoped</i> that Lambert was warm and safe with his brothers, and that whoever had given Lambert cause to expect the worst from everyone in the world was no longer a part of their pack. There was no way to ask Lambert such a thing. Or, well, there was none that Lambert would receive with anything but hostility. But Aiden rather thought that Lambert wouldn’t return to Kaer Morhen if he faced such things there. Or, Aiden hoped that at a minimum Lambert would have considered wintering somewhere else instead if there were something wrong, since Aiden had asked several roundabout questions regarding Lambert’s winter plans. Odds were that Lambert was quite enjoying himself, and was safe and well-fed, just as he deserved.</p><p> </p><p>By the time the snows had truly buried the town and the estate, the Cat witcher had become a fixture in the area: not particularly mysterious or dangerous, and sometimes even useful. Aiden thanked Melitele for whatever quirk of his or the humans’ that had allowed them to tolerate him. He only hoped the truce held, because he less and less wanted to leave his cozy berth to go back to the Path, slogging through frozen roads and demanding pay from peasants with little to spare. If he could stay the winter here, he could make the preparations he needed to go after the last mage. After that… Well, if there was an after that, Aiden would take it as it came.</p><p>Aiden didn’t realize that Midinváerne was near until he overheard the townsfolk talking about it when he came to trade some of his rabbit skins on market day. He’d not thought of the midwinter holiday for years. When he’d first been taken as a witcher trainee, he’d remembered some things from home. The dumplings his mother had made, and the embroidery sewn into the bedcover where he’d slept, and the songs the village sang together on the longest night of the year. But such trifling celebrations weren’t for witchers to keep. They had no emotions, and therefore needed no celebration, no comfort, no joy. </p><p>But there was no one here to tell Aiden he couldn’t have those things. So after he sold his rabbit furs, he spent the coin he’d earned on a few special ingredients, including an only marginally wrinkled apple. Back home, he cut out part of the core to form a hollow and added the small pat of butter he’d bought and a sprinkle of sugar. From a corner of his bags, he dug out the tiny waxed envelope in which he kept some of his most treasured possessions, including the spices he collected whenever he was in a port or far enough south. He dusted cinnamon over the inside of the apple and set it gently into the cauldron with a little water to roast. </p><p>He ate his treat sitting on the floor in the dim glow from the stove, listening to the crackle of burning logs and the faint shuh-shuh of wind shifting the snow on the roof of the barn. It was a waste, of course, for a mutant who could eat almost anything to spend his meagre earnings on such a luxury. But he remembered his mother saying that some joys were worth much more than the cost of them, and Aiden imagined that this was one. And having had one joy, it was difficult not to want more.</p><p>The next day, Aiden formed a plan, of a sort. It was a Lambert-style plan, which is to say, more of a vague idea. That apple had put him in the mood for something richer than squirrel meat. So he whittled a long ash pole into a point, and walked into the forest. He’d seen animal tracks down by the river. Though he hadn’t hunted large game while he’d been here, that didn’t mean there wasn’t any to be had. Aiden could take the time to catch something special for an occasion like this.</p><p>In the tall forest to the east, where not much snow had fallen, Aiden spotted a wild boar as tall as his waist, with plenty of meat on its bones. Fierce tusks jutted from its jaw, and a thick trail of bristles ran down its spine. It was rooting for food in the forest loam, head down, back turned. Aiden could almost taste the roasted pork, juicy and rich. </p><p>The boar raised its head and sniffed. Its head swiveled around to fix one dark eye on Aiden, with tusks curved sharply upwards, and let out a sound that seemed to combine a grunt and a growl. Right. This was not quite a warg, but a boar was still a dangerous animal. Aiden adjusted the grip on his makeshift spear, taking stock of the closely-packed trees that didn’t leave much room for maneuvering and the slick footing in the trampled patches of snow. He should have brought the crossbow.</p><p>The boar snorted and dug its front hoof into the ground, pawing up a spray of dirt and snow. Clearly it had no intention lying back and letting Aiden kill it. And this was where a Lambert-style plan sometimes turned into a problem. Aiden kept his eyes on the boar and took a step backwards. He lowered his spear, ever so slowly, realizing as he did so that the thing had no crossguard. The boar might easily gore Aiden even if he did catch it with the spear. Lambert would never let him live it down if he were killed by a regular old boar. Maybe Aiden didn’t need to hunt this particular animal. There had to be a deer somewhere in these woods.</p><p>Though of course, rather than letting Aiden gracefully creep away, the boar bellowed in challenge and charged. Aiden backed quickly, tossing the spear aside. He reached for his sword before realizing it wasn’t really the right weapon. </p><p>The easiest thing would be to cast Axii: just make the thing stop so he could figure out what to do. Aiden lifted his hand to form the sign. But as he did, his gorge rose, remembering what it was like to be controlled: not just to be held still with that iron grip on his mind, but to be moved by it like a puppet. </p><p>
  <i>“Smile, little witcher.” </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Say thank you.” </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You're so well-behaved for us. Such a receptive little mind.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“There’s no point in fighting. All of this is mine to use as I please.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Celestyn hasn't been a good boy. But you'll help us put that right won't you?”</i>
</p><p>The boar bellowed again as it approached, startling Aiden back to the present. The thing was close now, and coming fast. Aiden cast about frantically, looking for help, and then he jumped. He wasn't as fast as he should be. His leg wasn't back up to full strength, and his foot slipped as he launched himself. It was a nearer thing then Aiden would have liked, but he reached the lowest branch on the birch tree above him, and swung himself out of the way of the angry boar. </p><p>He clung to the trunk as the boar squealed and slashed at the tree, its horrible noise a fitting counterpoint to the memories that circled, tearing at Aiden as if they, too, had wickedly sharp tusks. Aiden closed his eyes and tried to picture other times--not his training. A pleasant summer evening’s ride on Kicia. Good wine in a tavern with lively music. Lambert spinning tall tales around a fire. </p><p>Eventually the animal went away.</p><p>Aiden felt stiff and sore as he climbed down, muscles protesting from holding himself so tense for so long, and his leg throbbed. He picked up his makeshift spear and left the forest empty-handed. Had he really thought he could get himself some kind of centerpiece for a midwinter feast? Something that would grace the table of a grand home, or at least that of a happy family? Aiden should have known better by now than to make his ambitions too large. </p><p>He found a skinny squirrel as he walked his trap line on the way back. It was more of a dinner than he’d had many a time, even if it didn’t taste nearly as nice as boar would have. But he might as well have said it didn’t taste as nice as a roast goose served with blackcurrant sauce at the table of a duke. There was not really much point in making such comparisons. </p><p>And more than boar, more than roast goose, Aiden would have preferred having someone to share his dinner with, even if it had meant having only half the meat. Any supper with Lambert, even if it had been only water and a few scavenged roots and berries, had been a meal worth having. </p><p>Winter wouldn’t last forever. Lambert would leave Kaer Morhen in spring. And when he did, Aiden resolved, there would be a letter waiting. He’d kept a bit of paper and some sealing wax in his pouch, knowing what it would be for. There’d be a reason, a contract or perhaps just the promise of work somewhere, that Aiden could use as an excuse. If Lambert didn’t want to come, he wouldn’t, but Aiden intended to ask. If he knew of something that would bring him as much joy as that, he’d be a fool not to go after it.</p><p> </p><p>After sunset on Midinváerne, Aiden walked to town. A light snow was falling, blanketing the woods in white and quiet. He heard the singing half a mile away, and trekked into the woods towards the bonfire circle the humans had prepared. He followed the sound of the music, and came as near as he dared. He didn’t want anyone to catch sight of his eye shine and be afraid, so he settled himself in the deepest shadows behind a wide tree, and listened.</p><p>The sound of enthusiastic voices raised in harmony resonated in his chest, rising above the jaunty sound of a fiddle. Some of the townspeople clapped along, and others talked, their conversations an undulating buzz under the songs. It had been a long time, if indeed he ever had, since Aiden had been part of something like this, a celebration among people who cared for each other. But here he could be a part of the festivities. He was an audience to their joy, even if the humans did not know it. Aiden held on to a secret hope that they wouldn't begrudge it if they did know. </p><p>The bonfire blazed and the music lasted long into the night. Aiden remembered songs his mother had sung to him. He'd forgotten the words long ago, but when he heard them, his memories stirred. He thought some of the words the villagers sang might be different, but he’d learned the songs so very long ago he couldn’t be sure.</p><p>Aiden sat and listened until his toes were numb in his thin-soled boots, and the singing had dwindled to only a few voices as parents took their children away from the communal celebration and back to their own homes. Before long, there was only a low churn of conversation, punctuated by good natured laughter, no doubt fueled by the delicious-smelling mulled wine. </p><p>Aiden walked back to his little shelter carrying the memory curled up in his breast of the music and the candles the townspeople had left in their windows to welcome in the blessings of a new year. It wasn’t quite the same as being together with someone himself, but being near people who were together was something. Perhaps someday Aiden would have someone to stay with over the winter, to go hunting together to put a feast on the table, and listen to songs, and curl up together to keep warm. </p><p>When he arrived at home, Aiden lit a single candle, just a beeswax end that he'd been saving, and set it on the sill of the barn’s single thick glazed window. Though he didn’t dare speak aloud the blessing he was hoping for, he went to bed hopeful.</p>
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